


The parking lot

by Roshwen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A lady's favour (sort of), BAFTA's, Featuring thus far, Gen, Hedgehogs, Johnlock goggles optional, Multi, a flashback, someone babbling to himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A parking spot for ficlets, drabbles and 221b's, ranging from fluff to angst to crack. Mostly gen or mild Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thank you, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's internal monologue when he overhears John's little speech at the graveyard. A 221b
> 
> Note: this was written at approximately 4.30 am and edited at 6.00 am. I think that explains a lot... Hope you'll enjoy anyway!

John, even when I’m dead you continue to amaze me. I wonder how many men you’ve known and what they were like to make you think I was the best of them all. But right now, I need you to stop believing I was who I was, and accept I was a fake for the time being. You’re a clever man, John. I can only hope you’ll figure out what Moriarty’s scheme was about and why exactly I told you that lie.

Now, John, let me tell you this: you know nothing about loneliness. You had mates at Uni, brothers in arms in the Army, old friends here in London. For me, there was no one for twenty years. Eventually, I came to think it was for the best. Me and people don’t get on; you know that. It was best not to bother.

Then you came along, and you showed me how spectacularly ignorant I was. If I hadn’t cared for you, I’d be dead by now. We would both be.

I will probably never say ‘I owe you’ again, but when you take your loneliness in the months between Afghanistan and 221b, and spread that feeling out over two decades, you will understand how very much I am in your debt.

But don’t worry, John; I’ll pay you back. 


	2. Once upon a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation at breakfast about a rather odd dream.

‘You know,’ John mused, swallowing the last bite of toast, ‘I had the weirdest dream last night.’

Sherlock tore his eyes away from his phone to send him a thoroughly uninterested look. ‘Really.’

‘Yes, really,’ John said, dauntless in the face of indifference. ‘We were actors, in fact. Quite big ones, too.’

A snort of disdain followed the announcement. ‘The only way for you to be any sort of actor would be in your dreams.’

John let the barb pass. ‘Well, I was. I was in the Hobbit, you know. And you were in Star Trek. Playing the villain, I might add. And we did all these interviews and award shows… it was fun, really.’

The titles produced no reaction whatsoever, but then again, John hadn’t expected they would.

‘I was very short-tempered, though,’ he went on. ‘Swore a lot. And you… oh God.’

The sudden glee in his voice made Sherlock pay attention once more. ‘What about me?’

John sounded pained, suppressing laughter to the point of cracking his ribs. ‘You were the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen! God, Sherlock, you put napkins on your forehead and ear buds in your eyes! Although, to be fair…’ He fell silent.

‘To be fair what?’ Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. ‘Forget it. But did I mention I won a BAFTA?’


	3. The hedgehog won't be buggered at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home to find Sherlock trying to teach a hedgehog to find its way through a maze mainly consisting of piled up books.
> 
> Now what?

John came home to find Sherlock trying to teach a hedgehog to find its way through a maze mainly consisting of piled up books. The apparent reward was a bunch of grapes at the end.

Before he’d even opened his mouth, Sherlock had already started answering the hundred or so questions John wasn’t even sure he wanted an answer to.

‘He was messing with Mrs. Hudson’s garbage. I’m measuring his intelligence to determine whether he’d make an interesting pet. In case he is, his name’s Martin.’

John went for the most obvious of the remaining ninety-eight questions. ‘Why Martin?’

Sherlock shrugged, still watching the hedgehog, which by now decided Fuck This and rolled up in a tiny prickly ball. ‘He just looks like a Martin.’

Of course he did.

‘No, Sherlock,’ John said, in a tone of voice he thought he used way too often to a grown man, ‘you can’t keep wild animals in a flat, not even when you give them names. I’m calling the RSPCA.’

Martin the Hedgehog remained impassive, even when poked with a ruler. Sherlock scowled at it and huffed in annoyance.

‘I’m serious, Sherlock. Don’t fuck with the hedgehog.’

Sherlock’s scowl was redirected and settled on John. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘I sure am. Now, go and find Martin a box before he starts peeing on my books.’


	4. Favour

 

John’s fingers were warm on his cold wrist, their grip almost painful in a desperate attempt to find a pulse that wasn’t there at the moment. It took every last ounce of self-control not to slip up, not to accidentally release a flutter of breath or the weakest throb of a pulse that could give John hope, that could make him believe Sherlock wasn’t beyond saving.

That hope would soon get him killed.

John’s voice, broken and defeated, grew fainter as a woman thankfully took his hand of Sherlock’s and led him away. Two men manhandled him on a stretcher and wheeled him off, into St. Bart’s and out of John’s life.

For now.

But as his body bumped over the uneven pavement, Sherlock’s mind was miles away, plotting to eradicate every last thread of Moriarty’s web in the fastest way as was humanly possible. He could still feel where John had held him, the remnant impression of his fingers burning on his skin like hot candle wax. Pain and despair preserved.

He examined it studiously, taking care to remember location, pressure and the shape of John’s hand, then locked the memory away, ready to be recalled later, when he needed something to hold onto in the dark and lonely days to come.

A favour to carry with him into battle.


	5. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief flashback to suicide attempt

The room was horribly familiar, the atmosphere cold, heavy with damp and mould and the corpse all too easy to identify with, but it was Lestrade’s remark that sent Sherlock over the edge.

‘God, what a place to die,’ the DI said, looking around in the secondhand light, glancing at the grey furniture on the threadbare grey carpet and the wallpaper which might have been white one day but was now, yes, grey.

John, crouching next to the body, nodded, face grim. ‘Can’t seem to make anything out other than an obvious cocaine overdose , but I don’t get… Sherlock?’

 _Grey, everything was grey and damp and cold, so cold, he’d never be warm again and honestly, what was the point of living if he was obviously never going to be warm again, he needed warmth and colours too, otherwise what was the point of it all, what was the sodding_ point…

‘Sherlock.’ John’s voice was a distant beacon of light. ‘Sherlock, look at me.’

_Cocaine was warm, and colourful and bright and so there really was only one option left, wasn’t there…_

Steady hands grasped his. The world came back and Sherlock slowly exhaled.

The hands were warm, but their heat was nothing compared to the jumper-clad fire blazing by his side. ‘That’s it, love,’ the fire said. ‘Just breathe.’


End file.
